Star Trek: The First Breath
by kaazi
Summary: "The first breath is the beginning of death." -Thomas Fuller
1. Chapter 1

_"The first breath is the beginning of death."_ - Thomas Fuller

Chapter 01

Animal Instincts

The hallways of the Enterprise were crowded with the usual parade of Star Fleet business. Kirk, in the dark hours of night, was exhausted from a long day of interstellar shenanigans. He addressed a few of his men and women as he passed them by in the hall but didn't stop to speak with any of them. He had dismissed most of his daytime crew to their quarters already and it was his turn to hit the hay. It would be an early rise in the morning to meet them back on the bridge.

With their usual hiss, the doors of his room slid back to welcome him home. His personal quarters were as dimly lit as the halls, the very mood of the still air calling him to his bed. He didn't even stop for a swig of the rare Romulan ale they had picked up a few days ago, which he was sure he would need to taste before he was satisfied enough for sleep. He was more drained than his age and stature should have permitted. He'd been feeling that way a lot lately.

"Captain," a familiar voice spoke to him. Someone was already there.

For a moment, in a sleepy daze, he thought he might have stumbled into someone else's room by mistake. But there was no mistaking his things all in place nor the permissive unlocking of the door he'd just passed through. The realization came to him swiftly.

"Dr. McCoy," he turned to face his chief medical officer. "I thought you'd gone to bed."

A naughty grin spread across the man's face and he handed his Captain a glass filled to the brim with a blue liquid. He was still in his daily blue doctor's uniform, his brown hair was combed off of his forehead, and despite the hour, his face was awake and alert. "How could I pass up a drink with my good buddy Jim?" he asked. "Come on, it'll be like our Academy days."

Earlier that afternoon Kirk had invited Bones to join him for his drink. They were scheduled to meet over an hour ago. He had just assumed he wouldn't have waited that long and would have left to complain the next day. Then again, Romulan ale seemed to be one of the man's favorite things in the known universe, and he seldom passed it up. He should have seen it coming.

"Bones," a little more awake now he knew he could address his friend by a more casual name. "It's been a hard past couple of hours and I think it might... be best if I just..."

His smile rotted. "Are you meaning to tell me I waited here for you for over an hour and you won't even have one drink with me?"

"I tell you what," Kirk wasn't one to regret or take back anything he said, and he wasn't about to start now. He was always better at finding alternate routes: "Why don't you just take the whole bottle? My treat. I'm sure you'd be able to find some one in the mess hall to drink with you."

His eyes brightened at the prospect of being handed such an expensive drink in such a large quantity. "Well," he said, "as your doctor I recommend getting as much sleep as you can. Staying up is bad for your health."

The Captain nodded his head. "I couldn't agree more."

Bottle in hand, the doctor headed for the door, and had he been standing just inches more to the left, could have run straight into Spock on his way out. Too excited over his bounty to make a smart remark at the Vulcan, he dodged and kept going down the hall. Kirk was terribly disappointed. A large part of him wished the two had run off bickering down the hall and leave him alone.

Just as the day before and every day since that on which they'd met, Spock was spotlessly clean and tidy. The blue shirt of his uniform was unwrinkled and well fitting, his straight-cut black bangs flawless and neat on his forehead. Only the faint green tint of his skin, the point of his ears, and the slant of his eyebrows was out of place. And even then, only to humans.

If it had been anyone else, he would have simply shooed them off so he could get some sleep. But never Spock. Now, for the second time interrupted, Kirk knew, like most of his days, this night wasn't going to go quite as planned.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Spock?" he inquired.

"Captain, I have a report to deliver from Engineering, it would seem that..." He paused a moment, allowing the door to close behind him. "Are you alright, Captain? You do not appear well."

"Just tired," he responded.

"Perhaps you should rest."

He couldn't help but make a face at his close companion. "Thank you, Spock. Your wisdom never ceases to amaze."

"May I speak candidly, Captain?"

He almost laughed at that. "Spock, we're in my personal quarters, speak as candidly as you want."

"I've noticed for the past several days that you've been displaying symptoms of fatigue."

"Maybe that's because no one will let me sleep," he muttered under his breath.

"Perhaps," Spock agreed. As quietly as Kirk had said that, Spock had no trouble hearing it. "But, all in all, your schedule has hardly changed from what it once was, and yet you never have displayed such symptoms before."

"Could you get to the point please, Spock?"

"I am merely suggesting that this might be more than lack of sleep. It is not uncommon for humans to link physical exhaustion with an emotional component. Your exhaustion could be derived from a source other than strain on the body."

"If you were McCoy I might take you seriously," he cut in. "But you're no doctor. What's really on your mind?"

"I think the question is, Jim: What is on your mind?"

Kirk began to remove his golden shirt to ready himself for bed. He did so casually, not at all uncomfortable appearing so plain in front of his good friend and first officer. "If you've only come here to lecture me on the weakness of human emotion-"

He stopped.

Spock had tilted his eye arching eyebrow in a curious glare. "Actually, Captain," he said, his deep voice soft and slow, "I came to deliver a report from Engineering."

Kirk remembered and sighed, whatever it was that was eating away at him, it was clouding his judgment even more that he would care to admit. Spock could see it in his face, his tired eyes, his sluggish mannerisms. "Right," he said. He was attempting to put the Vulcan at ease, though deep down knew Spock was too sharp, knew him too well, not to notice. It didn't take a mind meld for them to read one another. "My apologies, Spock. I guess I haven't really been myself these past few days."

"If I were human, I believe I would interpret this moment as an opportunity to discuss my concerns with another," he suggested.

Kirk's round cheek lifted with a smirk. He fell into the depths of his thoughts and allowed that amusement to melt as he came to focus on his discomfort. His arms came to rest on a counter near the wall and placed his hands under his chin to support his drooping head. Distant, his eyes wandered as he spoke.

"I have a..." he knew Spock would only interpret it as 'illogical' but he said it anyway, "bad feeling. It's as though..." he had to search for the words, "I know that something is wrong. It's this deep sense of foreboding; something is going to happen, something terrible is going to happen. I don't know why, but I can't shake it."

The Vulcan shifted with discontentment. "Interesting," he muttered.

"There is a fear in me, a sort of panic, but on an instinctive, animal level," he claimed. "And there's something out there hidden away in the darkness, just out of my line of sight, waiting for me; to condemn me; to be my ending, my doom, and the doom of everyone and everything I hold dear. A storm is on the horizon, and I am as helpless as a rabbit who cannot prevent its ears from twitching and not knowing the reason why." He looked up and his smirk returned with a sincere glow. "Although, I still say it could be my lack of sleep is making me paranoid."

"Yes, that could be the case," Spock agreed. "However, I find it all the more likely that you are merely worried about this mission. The Defiant has been missing for three weeks, simply vanished into space, and surely you must realize that whatever has happened to it must also be a threat toward you and the Enterprise."

"I've been on missions like this before, Spock, and none have so deeply affected me," he returned.

"Well, Captain, as you said, you are tired. I find that logical thought can often be dampened by a need for sleep."

"And yet you're still here preventing me from getting it," he accused with a beam.

"Understood, Captain," he replied. "I will go, but with some parting advice: If this 'sense of foreboding' as you call it worsens, you should seek help from Dr. McCoy rather than deter him away with bribes of alcohol."

"I will." He continued to grin as his first officer turned to go. But his face fell slack when he recalled: "Wait, Spock. Wasn't there something you needed to report?"

"It is nothing that cannot wait until you meet with Mr. Scott in the morning."

"Hold on," Kirk cut him off. "Did you... just come here because you were worried for me? Mr. Spock, I am touched."

"Do not make assumptions about my intentions," the Vulcan, still straight faced and serious, said with a suspicious undercurrent of embarrassment in his voice. "I only happened to be in the room during a period of emotional stress for you. As you might say, I was 'in the wrong place at the wrong time.'"

"Of course." Speechless, tickled, and also somewhat insulted, there was nothing left for Kirk to do but watch him go.

* * *

Morning dawned on the ship- revealed in the scheduled lighting throughout the corridors- but the silence of space outside of the windows remained unchanging. A vast ocean of nothingness and mystery, it was a fearful and impressive sight even to the captain who gazed out at it from the comfort of his personal quarters. For years he had studied, trained, and served in space, never to quite understand the feeling that swelled in him as he looked out into the black. He loved it, respected it, and was terrified of it.

"'Captain's log, stardate 5693.2,'" Kirk listened to his own recorded voice repeat back to him. Earlier he had made the recording, and had since sat in wait for a short time of rest before he was forced to continue his mission. As if to remind himself of it, keep his mind sharp and focused, he relayed his own log entry to think on the subject. It went on: "'The Enterprise is approaching the last reported position of the starship Defiant, which vanished without trace three weeks ago. We are in unsurveyed territory.'"

"Captain," the familiar voice of his Vulcan first officer interrupted him. Automatically, his finger silenced his computer and he turned his attention to the hailing.

"Kirk here," he replied.

"Captain," he repeated. Always so formal, everything according to protocol, no hint of recollection of their conversation the night before. "You're needed on the bridge."

Without the slightest thread of irritation at being called from his momentary peace, he bobbed his head affirmatively. "On my way."

He dutifully hurried through the inner passages of the Enterprise to his place by the captain's chair. Chekov, Sulu, Uhura, Scotty, and Spock, were already waiting for him in their rightful places. All of them were busy at work in their usual manner, but something about them was uneasy if not worried or even confused. Kirk, well tuned into his companions' behavior, immediately noticed the tension. It was clear sign of bad, or unexplainable news.

He showed no indication of a secret fear for his crew and confidently strolled over bridge. He dared not show any signs of weakness, bore no expression of wariness; he stood tall and firm, a hardy post for all others to lean on. Sometimes he felt it was as crucial to control his emotion as Spock controlled his. As their captain, he owed it to his crew to remain a constant in an inconstant galaxy.

"Captain," the Vulcan said to him as he made his way near. He turned in his chair and finished, his voice solid and empty: "We are registering very curious readings from all sensors."

"Specify," Kirk requested.

"I cannot. According to our instruments, space itself is literally breaking up."

No amount of force of willpower could prevent him from sharply turning his head in surprise. He looked his first officer dead in the eye, as though silently demanding an explanation. As he expected and worried, there was none.

"There is no known phenomenon that would account for these readings," the Vulcan said.

His usual first question in times such as these fled his scripted lips: "What about sensor failure?"

"Negative," was the reply he knew was coming, "I have run a complete check on all systems."

"Captain," Scotty was the next to address him. His red shirt was not as impeccably pressed as Spock's and his hair too was slightly out of place, but that did not make what he had to say any less important or professional. "We're losing power on the warp engines."

"How bad is it?" He remained entirely calm. Troubling though it may have been, was not a problem he'd never dealt with before.

"I can barely read it," he replied. "But, I don't like the looks of it and I cannot find out the cause."

"Captain," Chekov took his turn to voice his concerns. Kirk walked toward him to get a better look at what he had to contribute to their problems. The Russian man, practically still a boy, directed his attention toward the view screen. "Visual detection of an object dead ahead," he informed.

Knowing what he saw there could be the cause of all the before mentioned, Kirk stepped even nearer to the screen to gaze upon the small dot steadily approaching his beloved ship. From a distance, it was difficult to tell what exactly it was, but there was no mistaking it for a star or a planet.

Something in him twisted as he looked at it. Before its shape even became clear to his eyes, there was something about it his instincts could not ignore. His blood ran cold and his heart quickened as if to warn him of some unknown danger. It was a fear even more powerful than that which overtook him when too long he spent gazing out into the nothingness of space itself. Whatever they had stumbled upon, he didn't like it. That much was clear within his pounding breast.

"How about it, Spock?" he questioned. If any information on this thing could be had, he wanted it, and as soon as he could get it.

"Fascinating," was his inquisitive remark.

That wasn't good enough. "Explain."

"There is virtually no sensor contact," he went on as ordered, "no mass analysis, no trace of radiation. We see it, but our sensors indicate it is not there."

Everything went silent in that moment. Though he was sure the sounds of the Enterprise moving about, living, breathing, gadgets whirring and bleeping, he could not hear them. All of him was focused on the window to outside space and the object moving slowly closer to where he stood.

It was a corpse, an empty, eerie shell floating in the black. Its pale, almost ivory coloring became clear as it emerged slowly from the darkness. Its skin was broken, black, burned, and hollow, its face scarred and unclear.

A Federation ship, quiet, and dead in the water.

"The Defiant!" he was sure. The world around him came to life again and he moved on with his orders. "Mr. Sulu, impulse engines only. Close to transporter range."

"Aye-aye, sir," their pilot, sitting boldly beside Chekov, sounded his understanding.

"Lieutenant," he addressed the lovely dark skinned Uhura next, "open up a hailing frequency."

"I've been trying to raise them, sir," she said. "There's no response."

That news made his heart sink, but he was distracted by Sulu.

"Just within transporter range, sir," he informed.

"Good," Kirk nodded to him. "Maintain position. Mr. Spock, Mr. Chekov, come with me." He moved to the Captain's chair and pressed in a rehearsed button. "Dr. McCoy, report to the transporter room immediately," and then turned to his Engineer, "Scotty, you have the con."

"Aye, sir," he acknowledged.

McCoy and the rest of the landing party met up in the hall on their way to the transporter room. Once there, Kirk was halted by his all-knowing Vulcan. "Captain," he said. "Might I suggest the use of spacesuits for this investigation?"

"You think we'll need them?" he inquired.

"It would appear that the Defiant has sustained a dangerous amount of damage to its hull," he replied. "If there are any fractures, the hazards of space could have leaked through and we would be exposed to it if we beam over without them."

"For once," the doctor spoke up with a sour tone, "I agree with Spock."

"Better safe than sorry," he agreed. "Alright, everyone suit up."

"But, Captain," Chekov interjected, "if the Defiant has been exposed to outside space, then the crew..." He trailed off, not wanting to speak the words all of them were thinking.

"That's a possibility we have to take into consideration," Kirk did not console him. He wasn't in the mood. In his own heart ,a fear was growing, a fear no amount of white lies could comfort. He and his crew had felt it for days and it was strongest now, but he could not give into gut instinct to turn tail and run. He was a fighter, and more than that, he was an explorer, and he had to know what it was that was pricking at his thoughts and tempting him to take his final step.

Just as he had ordered and his first officer had deemed necessary, they each donned a heavy suit of metal and equipment. Over a hundred pounds of material weighing them down, if not for their Star Fleet training they would have been exhausted just getting them on. The tubing and otherwise important components that each performed a specific function made the outer-workings of their bodies appear almost as complex as the inside. The brown-gray cloth it was made from could have resembled the metal parts that scattered it back when the suits were new, but after a time of use, they had become somewhat worn and off-color.

Each one personalized, their last names were engraved on a small black piece of metal just under the neck of their helmets and the symbol of their home was sewn upon the right arm. But that was not the only identifying patch that marked them. On the other arm was a patch representing the United Federation of Planets. If their cold, hard bodies were discovered years into the future, floating into space the way the Defiant now did, it would be no mystery as to who they were and where their loyalties lay.

Once the glass over his face was clamped down shut, Kirk could hear his every breath echoing softly in his ears. He felt as though he had a fish bowl over his head.

"Locked in on the Defiant bridge, sir," a crewman in his red shirt said to them as they stepped onto the transporter in all their geared-up glory.

Kirk allowed himself one final moment of unease. After that moment, he couldn't afford it any longer. He swallowed his bad feelings, his doubt, and his concern. He'd done this uncountable times in the past and he would return, just as he had all of those times.

"Energize," he instructed.

For a moment, he thought his eyes had closed as it suddenly became quite dark. A blinding spark of light gave him a scare and assured him his eyes were very open. Chekov and McCoy jumped on either side of him, equally taken aback by the abrupt zap. After it, there was a long pause of complete nothingness. If not that his feet were firmly planted on the ground, Kirk would have wondered if they'd been beamed directly into space. It took several seconds for their sight to adjust to the black, and when it did, they wished it hadn't.

Blood soaked the floor and was splattered on the walls like spray paint. Kirk felt his eyes widen even more and he had to step back. His heel touched a human hand, white, and severed from its human component. Its fingers curled under the pressure of his booted foot and his blood ran cold to see the undead movement. The breathing in his helmet became rapid and deep; his pulse quickened tenfold.

It was still too dark to make out anything that lay in the shadows of chairs about the room, but subtle lumps in the foreboding black made him glad for it. Dr. McCoy, worried for the well-being of the Defiant's crew, slowly made his way over to what could have only once been a human on the floor. As he grew near to it, the light from the top of his helmet illuminated its clawed away face. Bone, white and eerie as a ghost, was plan to see through torn open skin, and his expression was forever locked in painful, agonizing horror.

While examining it and what may have caused it, Chekov was the first to make a sound. "Has there ever been a mutiny on a starship before?" His voice was trembling.

"Absolutely no record of such an occurrence, ensign," Spock replied.

"You're assuming this is the captain," McCoy accused.

The Vulcan made his way over to a terminal and looked over its blinking screen with intense eyes. "The ship is still functioning, Captain," he said. "It's logical to assume the mutineers are somewhere aboard."

"Use the ship's sensors to locate them," he replied. Only in the face of true mystery and danger could he release his uncalled for fear, and he displayed such a trait plainly as he stood confident and powerful in the uncertain presence of his companions. He sank his finger into the communicator button on his suit and spoke directly to his ship: "Kirk to Enterprise," he said.

"Scott here, sir."

"Prepare to beam over a full security squad on my orders."

"Aye, Captain."

"Captain," his first officer spoke again. This time, even he sounded put off. "I cannot pinpoint the location of the suspected men who committed this crime."

"Why not?" he questioned.

"Because sensors are indicating inconsistent life patterns. It would appear that there is someone aboard, but this terminal cannot specify where they are or even if they are human."

He fell into thought and then: "Odd, Mr. Spock, very odd."

"And Captain," he hesitated, unsure of himself and what he was reporting.

"Yes, Mr. Spock?" he prompted.

He didn't want to go on, but forced out the words: "I am not sure if this equipment is functioning correctly but it would seem that this ship is not the Defiant."

The beating of his heart, for a single instant in time, went still. "Not the Defiant?" he repeated. "Then where are we?"

"Jim!" McCoy barked from his place beside his corpse. "Jim, you're not going to believe this!"

"What is it, Bones?" he demanded.

"This man," he stood, his panic clear on his face, "it's Sulu!"

The skin above his eye violently twitched. "That's impossible!" burst out of him.

"No, Captain," Spock confirmed. "According to this database- or what's left of it after the damage to the ship- we are standing on the bridge of, not the Defiant, but the Enterprise."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 02

The Last Entry

Familiarity began to sink in like a weight on his stomach. He knew his home, his ship, and through the darkness, decay, and blood, he could still see it. This was his chair, destroyed beyond repair, torn to shreds and stained red; this was his view screen, his window to the outside, browned with rot and bleeding sparks; these were his walls, cracked and scarred; this was his crew, his friends, lying still on the floor. But how did this happen?

"No," he refused to believe what his heart knew to be true. "This cannot be the Enterprise! I was just standing on her bridge, she never looked so clean, so ready for action, so full of life. This place is just... death!"

"It's true, Captain," Spock calmly said. "There is currently no logical explanation for it. Yet, these records, despite being difficult to read, cannot be denied."

"'Records?'" he repeated the word and vanished into the stillness of his own mind. At length he ordered: "Spock, can you play the last recorded entry of the ship's log?"

"Jim, are you sure that's a good idea?" McCoy questioned.

"You have a better one?" He countered. His voice was more full of malevolence than he would have liked, but given the circumstances, he found it to be justified.

The doctor gave him a firm, scolding look. "There are some things we're probably better off not knowing. Lets just get out of here."

"'Get out of here!'" he barked back. He threw his finger up to make sure he knew who was boss. "Sulu, Scotty, Uhura and the rest of the crew are back there on the Enterprise right now. If this is to be their fate I sure as hell want to know how, why, and when it's going to happen. And if I can, I'll stop it!"

"Jim," he argued back, "this didn't happen, and there's no reason for us to assume that it will. This may look like the Enterprise, hell, that damn computer might even say this is the Enterprise, but you called Scotty and he answered. Our friends are back there on that ship. Who's to say us staying here isn't putting them in danger?"

"These are my friends, Bones," he said. "From another universe, from another time, or just in my imagination, these are my friends, my ship, my crew, and I demand an explanation."

"I want to know what happened to the Enterprise," Chekov added. Anger was clearly welling in him; his temper was a ticking bomb, "find out who did this and make them pay."

McCoy gave him one last glare of a threat. Kirk took it to heart, he knew he meant well, but this was no time for it. He wanted answers and the best way to get them was from the crew itself before they had passed. There was even a strong chance of their survival, and if they were somewhere aboard, he would help them if he could. He nodded to Spock. "Play it."

Spock turned back toward the terminal and went to work.

It wasn't long before an eerie recorded static filled the room.

"... Zrp... Stardate..." It was painful for Kirk to hear his own voice winded and beaten from the computer. "We cannot stop them... the crew... madness..."

It continued to jam and fizz, removing words spoken and leaving only whirring holes. "There is nowhere to run," they could hear through the haze, "First Officer Spock and..." it shut off again for a split second, "T'Pen are headed for the escape pods with the rest of the crew. I tried to meet with them but was cut off...

"I am trapped. I am trapped," it repeated, "with Lieutenant Uhura and Yeoman... Ensign..."

It tried to list further names, but they were all too muffled to be audible.

Alongside the shivering voice came a loud crash. It sounded distant, though they knew at the time of the recording it had been much closer than it seemed. Someone too was softly crying, and yelped at the sound. "We can hear them outside the door," the voice needlessly informed. "There's nothing I can do..." It fell to an ashamed whisper. "Oh God..."

Silence again. Silence and static. And then: "They're in the pipes. I can hear... Uhura!"

Wild screaming wailed on the tape, phaser blasts fired, and an alien hissing made their blood freeze in their veins. "UHURA! UHUR-"

The voice cut short and was replaced by a choking gurgle. Distinctly female cries shrieked in the darkness as they listened until:

"Turn it off," Kirk abruptly instructed. "Turn it off, Spock."

He obeyed.

The four of them stood in silence amongst themselves for a long moment. None of them knew how to interpret what they had just heard in the log. The last desperate attempt of a Captain to document what had happened to himself and his crew: it was unsettling to say the least. Less and less they came to expect it might be mutiny.

Something slithered in the ceiling.

All of them flinched and turned their attention upwards, but the sound was gone as quickly as it had come.

"Kirk to Enterprise," the Captain pressed the com button on his front for a second time. "Beam down that security squad now. Make sure every last one of them is armed."

"Captain?" Scott inquired from the other end.

"Just do it, Scotty. The sooner the better."

"Aye, aye, sir."

"Jim," McCoy snarled, "you can't possibly still want to stay after-"

"Spock," he said the name without even thinking it. A part of him must have instinctively turned to the Vulcan, his dearest companion, for some sense of relief and familiarity. It took a hard thought to place an order on the end of the call. "Go back an entry. Maybe they've recorded something that'll shed a little more light on all this."

"I cannot," he answered. "All of the data in the log has been corrupted by the diminishing systems. It is not accessible at this time. However I am attempting to recover other information that may be helpful to us."

"Let me know if you come across anything."

"Captain," Chekov muttered. "Who is T'Pen?"

He looked over at him with curiosity in his eyes.

"In the log," he said, "You... I mean he... The Captain said that Mr. Spock and T'Pen were headed for the escape pods. T'Pen isn't someone I have met before on the ship."

He had to consider it a moment, running through every crew member's name in his mind in an instant. "That's because there's no one aboard the Enterprise named T'Pen," he concluded. "It was probably just static that broke the name."

"Not necessarily," Spock countered. "T'Pen is, in fact, a Vulcan name."

His eyebrow raised. "Someone you know?"

"Negative." He shook his head. "I was merely stating that 'T'Pen' may be what was meant in the log and not an error."

Five security officers- in suits identical to their own save three red stripes down the arms- materialized beside them on the bridge. As they took their first look around the room, the looks on their faces changed from strong and capable, to bewildered and frightened. Their hands instinctively reached for their phasers and they did not calm until they caught sight of their captain's face.

"Sir, what happened here?" one of them uttered.

"That's what we're trying to find out," he told them.

"Jim," McCoy growled again. "Maybe your ears are full of wax. The you on this Enterprise couldn't beat whatever's happening here. What makes you think you can?"

"Because, we have the Enterprise, our Enterprise, to beam back to if we need it," he reassured. "They didn't. You heard the recording, they had nowhere to run to, they were trapped. But that's not going to happen to us. Spock, can you get the lights working? We'll need to see where we're going."

"Negative." Kirk was getting sick of that word already. "There is not enough power. However, the ship is currently immobile. There seems to be damage to the warp engines. It is possible to redirect the power flow from the engines to other, more needed, areas of the ship."

"Good," he allowed himself a small grin. "How long will that take?"

"Under normal circumstances, only a few minutes," he reported, "but all of these terminals are also suffering the results of power loss. As I've been using them, they've steadily begun to malfunction as they lose the power to run. I am increasingly running out of systems that I have access to. Engine power is one of them."

"If I wasn't so worried that laughing is going to more rapidly expose me to some airborne illness in here," Mccoy said, "I'd make a 'how many Vulcans does it take to screw in a lightbulb?' joke."

"When you manage to catch an airborne illness through your spacesuit, Doctor, I will be thoroughly impressed," the Vulcan retorted.

"You would."

"Gentlemen," Kirk interrupted.

"So there is no way to turn the lights on?" Chekov inquired.

"There is, ensign, just not from this terminal," Spock said. "We will need to do so directly from Engineering."

"Then Engineering will be our first stop," the Captain instructed. "We'll make our way from the Hanger Deck and Engineering back here to the bridge looking for survivors and answers. Kirk to Enterprise."

"Scott here, sir."

"We're going to make our way through the ship. Try to keep a lock on us at all times if you can. In case of an emergency, we may have to beam back without warning."

"Aye, sir. I'll have the transporter room standing by."

"Thank you, Mr. Scott. Kirk out."

He turned toward the others and straightened his posture. They were feeling it too, he knew, the same gut clenching apprehension that he was. He could see it clearly in their faces. None of them wanted to be there. If they could, they would be back on their Enterprise and headed back home at that very instant. But it was more than just a fear of what had happened to the ship. There was something more at work than just the horror story scene they had walked into.

It was that anxiety that made him so keen on pursuing this mission. There was no reason for it; something was causing it and he wanted to know what it was. He couldn't sleep, couldn't rest, couldn't feel himself at the top of his game until he knew what was getting to him and these men he had always know to be so strong and sure.

"Everyone listen to me," he said to them. When he was sure he had their attention he pressed on: "We'll stay together for now and break into groups later once we've assessed the level of danger here. There could be nothing to worry about at all, or there could be everything to worry about. The computer reads lifesigns, while it could be an error, I'm not going to risk leaving survivors behind here.

"This ship, whether it's the Enterprise, the Defiant, or Santa's Sleigh, may be losing power and dead in the water but we're alive. We're alive and we're kicking. We've been through worse and, believe me, a lot stranger than this, and we're going to make it this time just like we've made it all those other times. So I don't want to hear any more complaints or objections." He didn't try to hide the glare he shot toward McCoy. "We're doing this."

First Officer Spock made his way over to him. He leaned in and spoke quietly as not to let the others in on their conversation. "If I may, Captain?"

"Yes, Spock?"

"Perhaps retreat is the correct course of action in this case," he suggested. It was no wonder he wanted what he was saying to remain secret; he didn't want McCoy to know he was on his side. "You've mentioned an instinctive bad feeling to me and I must confess there is an illogical amount of discomfort within myself concerning this ship. While I do no believe in giving into emotion, there is evidence of beings all over the galaxy having sensed catastrophe before it happens. I must caution against idly entering hazardous situations during this time."

"You too, Spock?" In times of need, Spock was his leaning post when he too was about to fall. It was disconcerting to hear this from him. Nevertheless, he was the Captain, and, like it or not, even, Spock had to obey his commands. Pure arrogance driving him now, he did not let his voice fall to whisper. He didn't care if everyone heard. "We're doing this," he repeated. "And that's a direct order. I will not leave the people aboard this ship to die and I won't let whatever happened to them happen to us. Lets move out."

"Captain," Chekov was standing near the entrance to the turbolift, "the door is stuck."

Not entirely believing more bad news, he joined him by the lift and tested his claim. Just as stated, it didn't budge.

"Alright, lets pry it open," he instructed. He gestured for security squad. "You five get over here and help."

"Yes, sir." Up until that moment, they were statues in the dark. The sound of an order barked in their direction reanimated them.

They rushed over to assist their captain.

With all of their headlights focused on the door itself, very little light reached the rest of the room. Kirk, McCoy, and Spock stood aside to give them more room, but too had their minds focused in that direction. As they stood and waited, the men grunting and pulling with their fingers wedged in the door's small opening, the Captain became aware of a growing agitation within him. It was becoming more and more difficult not to keep turning his head to look behind him and he noticed McCoy occasionally doing the same.

They were like children in the darkness of their rooms at night. Continually they quivered from the prick of paranoia that someone or something was watching them in the corners they could not see. Every few seconds a spark burst out of one of the machines and illuminated the room, but there were still unseen nooks that irritated them.

With the combined efforts of Chekov and the security squad, the door began to inch open. Inside it looked black, and Kirk suddenly became aware of another wall going up within him. There was no telling why the door was stuck. It took until that instant for him to realize that fact. Something could have been jamming it from the inside. Something, or someone.

His insides clenched each time they yanked the door a little more open. As though living within a nightmare he was sure as soon as they had it wide enough something would happen. He knew it, with every fiber of his being, they were making a mistake in what they were doing in that moment. "Phaser please," he found himself requesting.

One of the security officers stopped what he was doing and handed his captain a weapon as commanded. Kirk held it up directly toward black line in the door that was widening as the men pulled.

"Should I have one of those?" McCoy asked with a hint of seriousness in his sarcasm.

"Just a... small precaution," he claimed.

Spock's head perked up a bit as though he too knew that something was about to take place.

A few more huffs and snorts, the metal scraping against its frame wailing, and with one quick wrench, the door flung open. Kirk's phaser hand darted forward in reflex and the security officers too pulled theirs in a flash. Their helmets lit up the inside of the lift as every last one of them snapped their attention toward what lie in wait within.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 03

Arithmetic

Nothing. The lights on their heads scattered and searched the inside of the small turbolift to find it empty. Kirk let his weapon drop back down to his side as he stared into the dark space. Only the fingernail scratches deep in the metal walls were out of place and the red, smeared handprints that complimented them.

A shiver crawled up his spine. In truth, he was only partially relieved that no monsters had jumped out at them. Something in him wished one had. Then he would know what he was up against; then he'd know he needed to fight. He preferred gun fire and hot pursuit over the still silence of the dead.

'Pull yourself together, Jim,' he thought to himself.

"Little bit jumpy, aren't we?" McCoy teased.

"Alright, everyone in," he instructed. "It might be a tight fit, but we go together."

They loaded up one by one into the lift. It was a small cramped room that put them in a vulnerable position, but walking from where they stood to the Hangar Deck would take hours in the dark. That kind of distance could prove particularly taxing under the circumstances. The turbolift provided the only conventional means of travel throughout the ship from the bridge and they would be once again forced to silence their discomfort for the time being.

The Captain gave the word for the lift to move, the doors clamped shut again, and it darted off toward Engineering.

A trip that only took a few minutes felt like an eternity. They all stood quietly, squeezed into the lift stained with the blood of their comrades. Every one of them had a million things to say, a million questions to ask, but none dared speak a word. It seemed almost a sin to be the first one to break the silent air only otherwise accompanied by the soft shifting noise of the lift itself moving through the turboshaft.

Kirk could feel the hairs on his skin begin to rise, goosebumps prickling his arms against his suit. Nevertheless, he knew it was all to blame on his imagination. Given time, the reason for what had happened on this Enterprise would reveal itself and with the revaluation would come the end of their anxiety. Thus was human nature. They only feared what was happening here because they could not understand it. But they would, of that he was confident.

Such confidence, in himself and in his crew, was what drove him to stay. He had to remain for as long as possible to discover what it was that made him so afraid and to face it head on the way a Star Fleet Captain should. And even that aside, that terminal had read lifesigns. Malfunctioning or not, he had to be sure he wasn't leaving anyone behind; that in his abandoning of this mission, he wasn't killing the crew of this ship.

"Captain." Though it had taken quite some time for him to do it, Chekov was the first to combat the eerie stillness, just as he had on the bridge.

"Mr. Chekov?" he responded.

"Who do you think could have killed those men?"

It felt alien for him to smile, but he did it nonetheless. With the movement of his jaw and lips, he found his spirits lifted. "I couldn't even begin to guess," he replied. "But the Captain here mentioned his crew was headed for the escape pods. If they're anything like the Enterprise crew I know, the rest of them made it out alive, or are still here, fighting for their ship."

Chekov smiled back, but with the hint of a snarl.

One of the security officers followed suit. "I know I wouldn't let them get away with this so easily," he claimed.

"'Won't' let them get away with this so easily," he corrected.

He outright laughed. "Aye, sir."

McCoy rolled his eyes. "Jim, I-"

He was violently cut off by the sudden vehement shaking of the lift around them. If they were not so tightly packed within, they may have fallen over from the jolt. The metal walls around them shrieked and wailed as it attempted to straighten itself within the turboshaft and then fell quiet once more.

"What the devil was that?" the doctor finished.

No one had time to answer before the lift shook them again. Kirk tried to shift his legs into a more sturdy stance, but there wasn't enough room. The nine of them were tossed about the lift like pennies in a jar. He tried to shout orders to his men: "grab onto something for support" or perhaps it was "just hang in there everyone" but, his voice skewed by the noise of the metal outside, not even he could be sure.

The lights on their helmets flickered and danced dizzily around them as their heads bashed against the walls and one another. In the confusion, Kirk felt his skull being slammed into Spock's in a collision that, had they not been wearing their gear, could have killed them both. His fingers reached out for the Vulcan to steady him and himself but his arms were entangled in the mass of thrown bodies and he was unable. If they continued on for much longer in that way, they would all be pudding in their suits.

"_Emergency stop!"_ He inhaled to his lung's greatest capacity, bellowed the words loud enough for the computer to detect, and, just as he shouted them, the lift squealed to a very appreciated halt.

All of their suits began to breath with their heavy panting and they leaned on one another for the support they needed to remain standing. Kirk was aware of the soft creeping sound the weight of their feet made against the floor. He knew it meant the lift had somehow been thrown off its rails and clamps. Without being held in place, the lift itself was free to move as it wished, and its joints creaked without the sturdy balance of the shaft around it.

If they made the wrong move, the lift could begin to roll and, depending on where they were within the ship, they could be in for a free-fall that would cost them all their lives.

"Lets get this door open again," he demanded.

His officers moaned but moved into position.

"But, Captain," Chekov said, "what are we going to do once we get out?"

"I believe we are going to walk," Spock answered for him. "Judging by the amount of time we were within the turbolift, I'd say we are not far from our destination."

"We're going to walk through the halls?" He did not seem to like that prospect, as Kirk had originally assumed they wouldn't.

"No," he said. "The lift is off track, it isn't facing the doors to the hall." He grunted while assisting his men to pry their way out.

"So then how...?"

He stopped and rubbed his hands. He was surprised at how sore they became so quickly and was impressed with and thankful for the team that accompanied him. "We'll walk through the shaft," he simply put.

"Isn't that dangerous?" McCoy questioned.

"Only when the turbolift is operating," Spock replied. "Which, clearly, it isn't."

"Clearly," he spitefully growled back.

"Captain," one of the red-striped men muttered. He was trembling beyond the rate of a cold, scared child and his spacesuit was marked with more than just the red of his security status.

"Jensen?" Kirk said. "Why aren't you helping the others?"

"It's my arm, sir," he replied and, as he said it, turned enough for them to see that he was cradling it limp. "It got twisted up in all the commotion."

"Bones," he called on the doctor who was already on the case.

It didn't take long for him to make his diagnosis: "It's broken, Jim," he informed, "and badly. He needs more medical attention than I can provide with just the med-kit I brought."

"Understood. Kirk to Enterprise, Mr. Scott" he hailed his ship.

"Here, Captain" replied the Scotsman's voice.

"Beam Jensen back to the ship; get him to sickbay immediately."

"Aye, aye, sir."

They stepped back as far as possible and watched the man's body break up into millions of glittering particles. It took only seconds for him to be free of the fate the rest of them were following. It was a reminder of the safety net they had waiting for them in space. However, there were a few snags in their net that Scott felt the need to make them aware of: "Captain, if you don't mind me saying so," he said with uncertainty in his voice. Kirk perked up to hear what news he had for them as he wasn't anticipating any at all, "I think beaming back you and the others merits some consideration. Sooner rather than later. In fact, I'll need to beam you back just a few at a time. I can't beam you back all at once."

He was shocked. Scotty of all people, back there on the comforts of their own Enterprise, should not have shared in their worries. "Why not? What's happened?" he pressed.

"Everything," he replied. "That ship you're in is fading out and well... it's ripping the innards out of this one. It's jamming our transporter frequencies. I've only got three of them working and I'm not sure of those."

"Can you fix it?"

"I don't know, I've been trying but no luck so far."

Despite that the man couldn't see him, he nodded his head to him in understanding. "Well do your best and inform me of any new developments, Kirk out," he finished.

McCoy's eyes widened. "We're _still_ not leaving this damned place!" he barked.

"We still don't know what happened to 'this damned place,'" he said sharply, "and I believe I've made myself clear that we're not leaving until we do."

"Jim, this is just reckless-!"

Kirk blatantly ignored him. "How's it coming with that door?" he asked.

"Almost there, sir," an officer grumbled as he pulled with all his might. "Just a bit more..."

They managed to get their fingers through the crack of the door and from there it was much easier to yank. Once they did, straining their arms and legs, this time, they were not met with silence and the dark.

Loud screaming ripped through their eardrums and all of them reached for their phasers in shock and alarm; even those who didn't yet carry phasers. Kirks' heart raced and felt as though it would break through his ribs and run in fear. Second upon second of frightened staring occurred before they realized what had happened.

When they opened the door, the computer detected their presence within the turboshaft and belatedly kicked in the life support in that area. The tubes and wires that normally would have regulated their oxygen and heat levels silently, were torn, snapped, and dangling from the surrounding metal. As a result, they released their energy in a flurry of noise and gas within the tunnel. The escaping air and other life support transfers resembled the sounds of a shrieking woman as they spewed out of the walls.

"This place is going to give me a heart attack!" The doctor yelled over the sound while clutching his chest.

"We're all just jumping at shadows," Kirk had to shout to be heard as well. "Everyone calm down and move out!"

Lack of power and the ship's determined effort to fight it made strobe lights of the emergency bulbs. It was dizzying to watch the broken pipes and tubes whip through the air with the momentum provided by their contents flying out of them. However, it was no longer a mystery as to why the lift had been thrown off track. There was no track left for it to follow. Everything had been gutted, as though some giant beast had run its claws all the way down the length of the shaft.

The turboshaft had to be large enough to fit the turbolift and, thus, wasn't too narrow for them to walk side-by-side, but the damage in the walls made them uneasy and so they proceeded single file. Two security officers led the way, followed closely by Kirk, then McCoy and Spock, with Chekov and the other two officers at the rear.

After a few minutes of hiking, the lights finally fell dim and flickered out. With their absence, the Enterprise ceased its emergency procedures and shut down the backup life support. Quiet, and too black to see anything beyond the eight beams of light their helmets provided, they sidled on in a straight line in search of Engineering.

It was an otherwise uneventful trip.

They descended the ladder into Engineering in the same order they walked the shaft. Spock headed directly for the nearest terminal and went straight to work while the others investigated the room. Unlike the bridge, while there was some minimal damage and a few unsightly bloodstains, the room was fairly clean and entirely empty. No unsettling lumps sat in the shadows, no human life, past or present, was apparent at all.

"How long before you can get the lights on?" Kirk asked Spock a familiar question once they'd had a brief look around to be sure the coast was clear.

"I cannot be sure at this point, Captain," he said. "However, if this computer continues to run at its current capacity it should not take long."

"Is anyone else curious why we haven't run into anyone yet?" Chekov said.

"Or why the bridge was scattered with human remains and this place looks like it just needs a quick cleanup?" McCoy added.

"According to these sensors," Spock said, "there is no life aboard this vessel."

Kirk turned his head. "But I thought you said there were inconsistent life readings?"

"There was," he replied. "But the computer is no longer reading them. There is a high probability that the lifesigns detector is malfunctioning. Though which reading was in error, I cannot be sure."

"But if there is no life aboard this ship," Chekov went on, "and there is no one here, then where are they?"

Spock bobbed his head. "If all of them were killed in the same manner as we saw on the bridge, it is logical to assume the bodies of the personnel who work here in Engineering would be found. Yet there appears to be no trace of them."

"Then they escaped," Kirk told them. "Engineering is one of the closest points to the Hangar Deck. If a ship-wide evacuation was in order, they would have been some of the first into the escape pods. But the bridge is one of the furthest points away, with some of the most loyal crewmen I've ever seen, and the door was jammed."

"That does offer a plausible explanation," the Vulcan confirmed. "With the turbolift doors nonoperational, it would have been difficult for those on the bridge to evacuate: an obstacle the crewmen on the rest of the ship may not have had to overcome."

"Well everyone," the captain clapped his hands together, "it looks like our rescue mission just turned into a repair mission. Spock, see what you can do about rerouting the power. If we have to, I'll get Scotty down here to help. For now, Ensign Crowell, Ensign Blake," the security officers perked up their heads as their names were called, "Dr. McCoy, you three come with me. The four of us will investigate the Hangar Deck and see what we can find. If they weren't in too much of a hurry, there may even be a listing of who was on which of the pods and where they've gone to. If at all possible, we'll bring their ship back to them and ask them in person what took place. The rest of you, remain here and assist Spock."

Kirk was immensely gladdened to hear that no one was aboard the ship. It meant the beasts he imagined pouncing on them at every turn were nonexistent, and the danger all along had only been in their minds, just as he suspected. He could now focus entirely on this mission. His head was already clearing.

It was impossible to determine the state of the Hangar Deck; it was much too vast and the dark was much to thick. So one of the first orders Kirk issued when they made their way inside was to split up. McCoy and Blake went in one direction while Kirk and Crowell took the other. They travelled in pairs for good reason; though the ship had been cleared of lifesigns, and therefore of enemies, the Captain was still uncomfortable leaving anyone by themselves.

Kirk wandered into the hallways leading to various storage units in search of the door that would lead them to the control consoles for the hangar. The information he mentioned the ship might hold about its previous occupants would most likely be there. He found numerous different closests and smaller hallways, but he had never traversed this area of the ship blind before. Crowell did his best to help wherever possible. He too strolled in through doorways and felt along walls, but their personal lights couldn't reveal enough to their eyes to be of any real advantage.

As they went about trying to find a staircase down below to the consoles, McCoy and Blake were looking into the hangar itself. While Kirk couldn't be sure exactly what it was they might find, he didn't want to leave any areas of the ship unchecked.

During their search, the doctor and his body guard reappeared before him. The man wore his usual unamused glare, but there was something else in his face as well.

"Jim," he said once their eyes had locked. No jokes, no sarcasm, the man was all seriousness.

"Yes, Bones?" he said back.

"None of the escape pods have launched."

He was taken aback at the news. His mind did a backwards roll. "Excuse me?" he felt his own features become just as hardened as McCoy's.

"It's true, sir." Blake agreed. "We counted every one. Not a single pod or shuttle craft is unaccounted for."

The Doctor continued in a low tone: "I hope Spock's lifesign readings were inaccurate and we start finding your survivors soon, because no one got off of this ship, Jim."

Everything around him seemed to slow down and he took a step back. He felt his head rolling with an ashamed shake in his helmet. None of the escape pods or shuttles missing could only be interpreted as terrible news. He knew it, but tried to deny that truth. Thousands of scenarios ran through his head. He wanted to think of a way that everyone on board besides those already found dead would be alright without having escaped the ship. But he couldn't think of a single explanation that made sense.

The lights blinked. Every one of them came on at once, lighting the room around them in a bright, blinding vehemence and then shut off again. Kirk's heart was so deep in his chest, throbbing so hard with loathing and doubt at the situation he'd uncovered, that he almost didn't notice it. However, he couldn't let himself fall into such a state, and he made himself straighten and recover.

"Spock," he addressed over the intercom in their suits.

"Spock here, Captain," he said from the other room.

"Was that you just now?"

"Affirmative. I should have the lights functioning properly momentarily."

"Finally," he sighed. "Something's gone right."

"Captain?" He heard Chekov's voice next. He was confused at being spoken to in the form of a question.

"Yes, Mr. Chekov?" He prompted.

"We are reading lifesigns within the Hangar Deck now," he informed.

He couldn't help but roll his eyes. "Well of course you are," he almost snapped.

"But, sir" his voice was shaking, "there are five of them."

"What?"

The lights came on a second time and, in the flash, there was a face.

It was human, but there was something wrong. The skin on its bones was sagging off, its eyes hollow sockets. Open wounds on its face dripped blood and brandished its stained teeth. Kirk didn't have time for his mind to register what was happening before Blake jumped directly in front of him. All he was aware of was the back of the officer's head, and a splatter of blood on his fishbowl.

He stumbled backwards against a door behind him and earned himself a clearer view for the instinctive movement. The creature had its arms buried in the man's chest; its mouth was open and it was hissing like wild cat. Its broken, sagging skin was black as the darkness it had crawled out from and its limbs were mangled like a dead, rotting tree. Its attention snapped back in the Captain's direction and its wobbling feeble body suddenly sprung into an unexpected sprint.

Automatically, his hand activated the door he leaned against and he fell back into the hallway behind him. When they tried to close, the creature smashed headlong into it and threw its arms through the opening. His eyes wide, not sure he truly believed what was happening, he watched as it spread open the metal doors it had taken five of his men to pry.

The blockage slowed it just enough for Kirk to crawl backwards away from it to another door on the other end of the hall. He commanded it open and threw himself inside. This time, the door closed before the monster could make its way to it and he was left alone. Distantly through the door, he heard a sickening crunch, and suddenly became alert to the sound of McCoy and Crowell shouting over the com.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 04

Alone

"Bones!" he barked over his suit. "Bones! Do you read me!"

His heart was racing and warning signs within his helmet were flashing. He could barely hear a thing over the sound of his own panicked breath and he almost dropped to his knees to hear his Chief Medical Officer's words. "I read you, Jim," he said. "We're still here."

"What's happening? Are you alright?" he demanded.

"We're fine, Jim. It's dead," he replied. "The closing mechanisms on the doors in here must be broken. It slammed shut at the last second. Crushed it's head in pretty good. What about you?"

"I- I'm alright," he stuttered. "Blake?"

There was a moment in which Kirk knew McCoy was leaning over the man's body making his analysis. At length: "...He's gone."

He put his head in his hands. "What the hell was that thing?"

"Captain," Spock spoke up. "Your heart rate has accelerated to dangerous levels."

"I know, I know," he said. "We encountered something. It's dead. It was crushed in a doorway." His mind was functioning now and he was able to put two and two together. "I think it's what caused all of this."

"I find that illogical," the Vulcan claimed.

He leaned against a wall for support. "Explain."

"Well if the creature was so easily killed, it would have been a simple task for the crewmen on this Enterprise to eliminate it," he told. "Whatever you've encountered may have contributed to the destruction, but it could not have acted alone."

His lip curled. "You mean there's more of those things?"

"Jim." McCoy's voice was stern, commanding, and as harsh as a parent to a misbehaving child. He didn't have to say anything more for Kirk to know what he was going to say. This time, he was not only listening, he was ready to take his advice.

"Kirk to Enterprise," he said. "We're ready to beam up."

He waited several seconds, but there was no reply. He noticed his chest beginning to rise and fall more heavily as he anticipated the answer that didn't come.

"Kirk to Enterprise," he repeated. "Scotty. Scotty come in."

Still nothing. The idea of his safety net having collapsed made his blood rush to a level of speed he had never before felt within his veins and it was chilled.

"Spock," he addressed his First Officer instead. "Why can't we reach them?"

"Unknown, Captain," he said. "But I am beginning to suspect there is more than a lack of power at work here. Something seems to be preventing me from using these controls."

"How do you know?"

"Because it is only the systems I am trying to access that are diminishing; some of which are priority systems that should not at this time be affected by power failure. It is possible that whatever is preventing the computer from performing is also causing our own equipment to malfunction. However, I should also state that just a few moments ago there was a sudden drop in power levels and everything, for a few seconds, was entirely unresponsive."

Slam!

Something crashed distantly in the ship where none of the current away team had access to. Kirk ducked down at the sound, the sound of metal crashing against metal. It occurred to him that it simply could have been something falling to the floor and echoing through the halls, but after what he'd just experienced he found himself quite aware of possible dangers. His head flipped left and right as he looked behind the boxes and crates surrounding him.

And then it dawned on him: he hadn't really heard it, but Spock had. The sound has resonated over their communications, and hadn't been within the room. The Vulcan must have taken note of it because he was suddenly off track from what he had just been talking about.

"Where are you, Captain?" he inquired.

"I'm in a storage compartment," he replied. "I was separated from the others. I'm headed back to them now."

He tried to activate the door but it did not respond. He slammed his body into the firmly locked door and clawed at the sealed crack. It was no use, he didn't have the strength to get it open on his own. "No," he said out loud to himself. "No! No! No!"

There was no way out. "What is happening with these doors!" he shouted at the dark.

He was still shaken by the unexpected attack and now, alone and stuck in a closet, true panic began to set in. He was hyperventilating and his muscles began to stiffen. After only a few minutes of standing solitary, he found himself frozen. His mind was overwhelmed with the idea of something coming down on his skull from above or rushing in at him from behind a package.

His whole body began to shake. He tried to calm his mind, but could hardly move his arm forward to try the door again. Humiliation sank in beside fear. If the others could see him! He must have looked so pathetic!

"Over here," he heard a whisper in his ear.

"What was that, Spock?" he asked.

"Captain?"

"What was that you just said?"

"Captain, I did not say anything."

"McCoy?"

"Over here," It wasn't so much that he heard the voice this time, as imagined it cooing to him. It was far away and blurry for a sound, as though hearing it underwater. His head turned in the direction he thought it had come from and he suddenly had an unsettling feeling: something wasn't right in the room.

"'Over here?'" he formed the words with his mouth though didn't speak them out loud. He listened for anything further. He couldn't be sure it hadn't been purely in his imagination.

"Captain," McCoy said, "are you planning on spending all day in-"

"Radio silence!" he cut him off with a desperate command.

He stepped toward the corner his attention was drawing him to and removed a box that stood in his line of sight. Behind it was thick, eerie pitch. The wall had been peeled open like a bloody scab and only a ghostly hole, surrounded in a thick coating of rust and grime, remained.

Looking into the vile tunnel reminded him of his phaser. He removed it from its place at his hip and held it up to the dark.

His helmet light shined through to the other side. He could see an open space on the other side, large enough to contain him if he were to climb through. It appeared to be a shaft in the wall where a series of pipes made their way to their needed destination. It was not intended as a crawl space, but by the damage alone, he knew he could fit.

He also knew the risk of doing so was beyond what protocol would deem an acceptable course of action, but he couldn't remain in that room. Without being able to beam back to the Enterprise and without the physical strength to open the door alone, if he didn't act, he would die in there. Not to mention, Kirk was never one to let protocol control his decisions.

But there was something else he knew as well: something was there. Though he couldn't see it, something had spoken to him and he could sense the presence of another nearby person. Like the red lights of the alarms in his suit, the alarms in his mind too were flashing. He was hardly one to believe in paranormal activity; yet what was taking place was as mind-bogglingly terrible as a horror story.

"The door in here is jammed, I'm locked in," he said to the others, "but I've found an alternate way out."

"Jim-"

"Maintain radio silence, McCoy and Crowell, head back to Engineering. Kirk out."

Despite his better judgment and training, he stuck his head in first to get a better look. Fortunately, there was nothing within immediately interested in removing it from his body. He looked down the pipes and laid eyes on something he least expected: space.

It explained why he couldn't hear the crash in the compartment he was in.

The damage to the wall broke all the way through the pipes and the tunnel and through to the other side of the Enterprise's thick skin. While the main damage was some feet away, it was extensive enough for him to clearly see the infinite universe outside. With the blinking of the lights in his helmet warning him of his extreme pulse, he hadn't noticed the small blue light indicating exposure to hard vacuum. Had he run into that room without his space suit on, he would have been dead in seconds, and if not for the surprising remainder of the ship's shields, everything in the hangar bay would have been sucked through that hole and into nothingness. Perhaps their luck was not as bad as they thought.

He squeezed his way inside and made his way over to the ship's ugly wound. It took a good amount of pulling to get himself along the narrow tunnel. The clever, always thinking part of him twittered ideas in his head. The loudest and most prominent of which was to try to communicate from Scotty from outside the ship. If Spock was right and there was something preventing them from using their equipment properly, there may have been a chance that it would desist once he was away from it.

As his mood and therefore his condition improved, the warning lights in his helmet switched off. He imagined Spock would be secretly glad to detect that. It was a good sign that the situation on his end was bettering without him having to report it.

He held onto the break in the wall and leaned over to look out the other side. His eyes distantly wandered over the ocean of stars and then snapped to attention where he knew his Enterprise was parked, awaiting his return. The tiny stars in the distance were sparking in their usual pretty manner, a few of the closer planets and systems sparkling more than others. It was mesmerizing to watch. Out of the top of his eye he could see the engines of the Enterprise he was aboard. Everything looked exactly how he thought it would save for one soul wrenching detail.

The Federation ship that should have been within eye shot was missing.

Where was his girl? His baby? His love? She should have been there, his angel to save him when all seemed to be at its worst.

He leaned out further to get a better look in all directions. She wasn't there. She was completely missing from the scene where she belonged. Their escape route and their only hope or advantage was simply gone.

They, like those who had died there before them, were trapped.

"No..." he found himself saying again. His frustrations exploded out of him and he screamed at the top of his lungs into soundless space: "NO!"


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 05

A Child's Laughter

There was no telling how long he stood in that opening. He kept expecting that at any moment the Enterprise would drift into his vision. But she didn't come. She wasn't coming to rescue him; at least not yet. That was what his mind was focused on: that brief glimmer of hope that, though she was gone now, she would return in all her glorious splendor, just as she always had. He only needed to keep going and they would be reunited.

There was a ghastly chuckle in the dark: a sound where there should have been none. It was the same as before, some distant irregular voice within his mind. He couldn't be sure it was there at all. It could have been the frightened blood within him bringing uncalled for worries to his brain.

And yet, he knew precisely the direction it had come from. It was as though it was somehow calling to him, though this time it hadn't specified any words of guidance.

It chuckled again. A eerie little chuckle, like that of a child. It came at him from down the tunnel where he knew a potential shaft was waiting for him to escape back into the hallway or another room. Whatever it was, was it trying to help him? Or was it merely a siren tempting him to his doom?

He was well aware of the only way to be sure.

He climbed back into the dark hold of the tunnel and wedged himself into its narrow grip. Feet sliding side-to-side, he worked his way further in search of the way out. Though he couldn't actually hear it, as he moved he imagined the heavy clank his feet would have made against the pipes he walked on given any other circumstance.

At length, he came to something promising: although didn't allow himself any sense of satisfaction for fear that it, like everything else that day, would prove not what it seemed. It was the engineering and maintenance hole he had been looking for. Metal rungs stuck out of the wall for easy descent to a door at the bottom the opened up into further accessible areas of the engine. While it wasn't quite the hallway back to main Engineering, it was a step in the right direction: if the door opened according to plan.

He dropped himself down onto the door. Despite that the ship's shield kept gravity at bay, it was still less than ship normality and he felt as though he were in water as his boots settled on metal. He placed his hand over the opening mechanism and, for the first time in what seemed like eternity, something went his way. It hissed out of his way and allowed him to drop into a new setting.

Once out of the shaft and the doors shut again, he suddenly felt much heavier and the hard vacuum light in his helmet flicked off. He was now standing in an area a living thing without a spacesuit could survive in. While that meant he was all the closer to meeting up with Spock and the others, it also put him in all the more danger.

He was standing in an area of the ship he was entirely unfamiliar with, but imagined Scotty knew plenty about. If only contacting the man was a possibility, he wouldn't feel so lost. It was a much vaster room than what he was expecting; large and empty enough that if he were to shout he would most definitely receive a loud, booming echo back at him. Entirely surrounded by metal gadgets and engulfed once more in black, it took him several prolonged minutes to discern a door on the very far side from where he was standing.

A vent in the floor, too far away for his eye to fully focus on it, creaked and shifted. Phaser at the ready, he watched it as it began to move. The moment it lifted out of its socket, he had the strong urge to fire, but he dared not. If he hit a surviving crew member, even with his phaser on stun, he could send them to their death. He had to be sure before he delivered the blow that it was an enemy.

It was moving so slowly his skin crawled in suspense. He just wanted it to jump up and leap at him so he could end it.

No sooner did that thought cross his mind than he saw something peek out of the hole. He squinted his eyes to try and tell if it was the head of human or monster and his foot stepped forward slowly and silently to bring him closer. It was so distant, he still couldn't quite make it out, but from what he could tell the arm that ripped outward like a slashing claw was not one of a weak or frightened person.

From as far away as he was, he clearly had the upper hand. He took aim, readied his arm to fire, and then

something grabbed him from behind.

He could feel its gnarled blackened fingers digging into his ribcage even through his heavy suit. He shouted in pain and surprise and dropped his weapon to the floor. It was roaring, screaming in his ear. Everything around him began to flash in one blurred vision. The creature crawling up from the floor answered the screech of the one holding him within its clutches and it burst into unbelievable speed his direction. Within seconds it was directly in front of him, its ugly face falling clean off of its skull and its bloody teeth brandished.

He had to act or die.

He threw his elbow up into the face of his backward attacker. While it didn't seem to feel the blow, it shook it enough that its grip weakened. Seizing the opportunity, he took hold of its biceps and tore it off of him. He pushed his backside into the thing's waist, forcing it to double over, and used its own fall to toss it over his head and into the second thing.

Like cats they were on him again. Their claws ripped into the outer layer of his suit, blood gushed from their open throats and rained down on his helmet. He threw his hardest punch into the gut of the nearest, sending it stumbling backward, and kicked the other in the knee to throw it off balance.

He was slammed hard into the ground under the momentum of a third pouncing on him from the ceiling. It was then he caught site of what had to be nearly fifty more crawling out from the shadows. Somehow managing to get back on his feet, he stomped on the skull of one that happened under his boot, killing it with a disgusting burst, and threw off another by the throat when it jumped onto his back.

There was too many of them to fight off bare handed, but he couldn't see where his phaser had fallen and, even if he could, he could not reach for it.

Was this how it was going to end?

He could hear a soft squeak. It reminded him of the squealing of a child's swing as the metal of the chains rubbed against the pole that held it up. When it started, subtle as it was, the beasts surrounding him took immediate notice. They silenced their roars and began to back away, almost as though they too were frightened of what they could not see. They didn't seem the willing type to stick around with an unknown noise around the corner, and they were gone as quickly as they had come.

Though he was left standing alone, the distinct feeling that he was being watched overcame him.

He was shaking and breathing hard again but battle was not something he was unaccustomed to. He knew he had to recover and move out as quickly as possible, or once more be ambushed when the creatures decided to attack again. However, he could not quench the curiosity that suddenly bubbled up inside of him: what was it that had scared them off? It did not sound menacing, just something out of place.

He wiped away what blood he could off his helmet with his glove. He stepped toward the corner where the sound was emanating from. He was becoming better at listening the more time he spent in the silence. Sound was becoming a worthwhile ally that he was glad for.

He could see the chain rocking back and forth. He eyed the floor for his phaser but it was still missing, he'd have to move cautiously to solve this mystery defenseless. Pressing his back against a tank of questionable fluid, he slipped his head over just enough to have a look at what had jangled the rusty links.

His own features, cold, pale, and dead, swayed on the chain. For a split second, the horrific idea that he had stumbled upon his own dead body from another reality crossed his imagination. But that shock was calmed with a better look. It was not himself he was looking at, but an almost mirror reflection of what he had looked like at the age of ten. The child's blue upon blue, dead, unseeing eyes were open and staring directly at him. All that stood in their way from reaching his soul was the long, dangling blonde hair handing like a curtain over the face.

While he couldn't explain the resemblance to himself, he realized he was looking at a little girl dangling lifelessly from her wrists.

"Poor thing," he said. He reached out to tenderly touch her face.

As he did so, she, before he could react, reanimated and darted for him. Automatically, he jumped backwards and grabbed his chest in alarm. The warning lights in his helmet switched back on and began to flash in the corner of his eyes. "Good God!" exploded out of him.

"BOO!" she barked and then began to laugh.

Slowly, he regained his composure. He was too speechless to even think another word.

She pulled her hands out of the chains that held her and her bare feet plopped onto the floor. She placed her palms on her knees to keep herself steady as she chuckled. He recognized her voice: it was the same that had led him out of the storage compartment and into that room.

She stood up straight and rocked back on her heels. The body that had look limp and fragile before was strong and sturdy now. "Well," she said triumphantly, "look at you."

Now that she wasn't dangling in a corner it was easier to look her over. She was well under five feet tall and her round face and defined cheeks where a trait that ran in his family: hence her uncanny reflection.

However, it was not so much that she somewhat looked like him as who else she looked like that threw him off. She was wearing a traditional white alien robe over matching breeches, a temporary break in her tumbling blonde locks revealed point-tipped ears, and her eyebrows, ever so slightly, tilted upwards.

This girl, either fully or in part, was a Vulcan.

But a laughing blonde Vulcan? It was, as Spock would say, "illogical."

"Who are you?" he asked.

She smirked a cruel little smirk and her sassy remark was strangely teasing: "What? Don't you recognize me?"

He was wary toward the way she communicated with him. There was something wrong with it; just as there was something wrong with the ship itself. When she spoke, her words were sounds that didn't match his receiving thoughts. It was as though she was speaking one language, a language that sounded Vulcan to him, and yet in his mind it clearly registered it as English. It was a different sensation than that which he experienced with a universal translator and he didn't like it.

She crossed her arms and chuckled again when he didn't answer. He didn't like that either- that chuckle as though she knew something that he didn't. It was patronizing and insulting. For a little girl to treat him in such a way! She obviously didn't understand the danger she was in.

"Do you think this is some kind of game?" he snarled.

She wasn't even remotely moved by his show of anger and continued to grin. "Well, aren't you just as feisty as ever."

"Who are you? What are you doing here?" he asked again with authority in his voice. He felt his eyebrows narrow as a new idea occurred to him: "Are you a Romulan?"

Giggling, she scurried over to the doorway and feigned innocence by placing her hands behind her back and swaying back and forth. "I tell you what," she said, "you make it back to your friends alive, and I'll tell you." She lifted her hand and waved him her direction.

He decided to play along. "I've got a better one," he said. "You tell me who you are, and I'll tell you who I am."

She rolled her eyes. "Look where we are," she pointed out. "We're aboard your ship. I already know all about you, Captain Kirk." Her face suddenly became quite serious and she talked down to him as though he was the child and she was the Star Fleet captain. She stretched her arms and yawned in a bored fashion. "It's too bad all you want to do is stand around and chit-chat while those things start to come back. I was going to help you get back to Spock, but I guess if you'd rather stay here..."

He had little choice. "No," he gave in. "I... appreciate the help."

Her crooked smirk returned. "Good."

And with that, she laughed and slipped into the darkness.


End file.
